


Heart of Snow White

by kinpika



Series: A Perfect World [7]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Blood and Gore, Heart Eating, How Camilla became a Revenant Knight, Pain, Regret, Suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 12:56:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6754774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Camilla was younger, she had seen a Revenant Knight, and thought they feared none.</p><p>And yet, she feared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart of Snow White

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

Camilla repeated it to herself, as her legs ached under her, knees shaking. Could she feel her feet? Gods, she wasn’t sure anymore. It _hurt_. It hurt it hurt it hurt. A deep sort of pain that made it hard to breathe. What was it? There was no name to give it, as a series of growls, high and pained, that erupted in front of of her.

(Betrayal)

“Marzia,” she croaks, raising a hand in front. Was her vision the one swimming, or was her arm just waving aimlessly in front of her? It didn’t matter, nothing did, as Marzia let out a low squeal, and tried to pull herself away.

Step forward, Camilla commands herself. Keep going. One foot after another, a slow walk, towards where her wyvern (her _friend_ ) had collapsed. Torn wings, almost far too easily, a cut through a hind leg that she dragged helplessly. Camilla knew there were a few broken teeth, one currently lodged in her shoulder, left arm hung useless and broken at her side. Was there even any feeling left? She did not linger on such a thought.

They had told her to limit the damage, as it would affect the reincarnation. They had not told her that Marzia would fight back.

Marzia gargled, a broken sound, regret, sadness. She didn’t want this either, didn’t want to break that fragile trust Marzia had granted her (no, she did, she was sure of it, there was no other way). 

Feet break out into a jog, and the weighty sword in her hand is unfamiliar. Perhaps it was a good thing Marzia would not go down without one last stand, as her tail swung out. 

Spines easily rip through the shirt Camilla was allowed to wear. Was that tear in her arm always there? Camilla does not care, no care, nothing, _run._ Only she would listen to herself. It was always only _herself_. 

“I’m sorry, my old friend.”

A chirrup, the first sound Camilla had heard when she had been granted Marzia as a child. Like a baby bird, as Marzia had rolled in her arms, trying to fly off, trying to get away (had she always known it would end like this?).

A chirrup, the last sound Camilla had heard, as her sword cut through skin around Marzia’s neck, always a little too thin. Not a fell swoop, but a stagnated swipe, Camilla throwing her weight behind it as Marzia thrashes, throwing her off finally. Blood flows in spouts and Camilla is washed in it, tangy and bitter on her tongue. They said that blood carried ones true feelings, and if this was Marzia’s, Camilla felt herself struggle under the weight.

Throwing herself forward, Camilla forces the blood out of her system, not wanting that, no no no Marzia please I’m sorry, _I’m so sorry_. Her weight tips left, forcing the tooth further in, but she’s not dead. She can’t die. She’s sorry, so sorry. 

“Marzia,” she croaks, voice strained from the bile, spit drying at the corners of her mouth. “Forgive me.”

 

There was no forgiveness, as Marzia crawled forward. How the sword stuck out from her neck, dragging herself, Camilla embraced the looming darkness, the drip of blood just above her right eye. Defeat.

 

They revive her. Just as she was taking a step onto the ferryman’s boat, they wretched the tooth from her arm, and she screamed back to life. Mangled mess of bone and ligaments, Camilla was forced to watch as they put her back together. Revenant knights were a vicious bunch, and there was no magic to stem the pain. Only one man stood, hand raised, forcing her to feel each and every vein snap back together, like they were putting together a puzzle as haphazardly as they could manage.

Her head was kept facing the needle as they stitched her arm back. Such an archaic way of doing things, and teeth pulling at the string to tighten it had her shudder. They were smart to pin down her legs. Oh god, her legs.

Camilla wore the bite marks on her legs like an undeserved trophy. A smile lifted her lips when she remembered Marzia taking her, teeth digging into the skin of her calves like a knife going through butter, and throwing her. She had died then too, as she watched blood flow from the puncture wounds. Gods, she had died too many times. Was she deserving, each time, to come back, another piece of her missing? 

(What was gone this time? she asked herself, when they left her. _Heart_ , a voice whispers back)

No one helps her to walk. No one helps her dress her wounds, licks up the blood that still spills between stitches as she strains and bends and lifts. All alone, the princess sat, deep underground. There was a story once, her brother told her, something like this.

What happened to the princess? she had asked, small and impressionable.

He had laughed. She _survived_.

Survive, she tells herself. She had been told to survive then. No wails that left her now would help, as it felt like she had been torn apart. Hands scrabble at her chest, trying to find it, trying to get it out. Oh. Camilla held up her hands. Her nails were broken and chipped. _Marzia_.

 

Camilla mourned.

 

When Camilla was a child, she had met the leader of the Revenant Knights through her father. A woman, who stood far taller than even Garon, had taken knee, and told of some business or another. Camilla did not care for how adults talked, as she had peeked around from behind the throne. They had snuck in, and she had smacked a few of her siblings, _be quiet_.

The woman was beautiful and powerful and strong. She did not fear Garon. She did not _fear_.

 

“Eat.”

Had it been any other time, Camilla may have quipped about the lack of conversation. Had she not torn at her chest, scratches running down the skin of her breasts, she might have. It was eating her alive, whatever was inside her. Burning hot through her own body, perhaps it was Marzia, making her sway as someone wound their fingers in her hair, and pushed her face down.

Heart. Was it still beating? All at once, Camilla felt her stomach drop.

“Eat it.”

Eyes watch the room. Few had survived. Some who could not kill their wyverns had been slain alongside them. Some had fallen in battle. So much meaningless death. Camilla would not be among them.

Gods, the heart was still warm under her touch. Did that mean Marzia was still alive? 

Thumbs run along the muscle. Camilla had held a brother’s heart in front of him, once, when she was thirteen and had to defend herself. Her magic had just manifested, late but _mighty_. She had not meant to push him so hard, but who knew that humans were so soft, and that a heart could be torn out so easily?

The first bite was the worst. Teeth do not tear through, they were never meant to, and the heart was heavy in her hands. Camilla felt herself tighten, as her body tried to reject it. Get it out get it out get it out

Maybe it was the blade at her neck that forced her to swallow it down. Camilla closed her eyes, and took another bite. It did not get any better. Blood spurted from broken veins, warmth filling her mouth, dripping down her chin. Eat, she tells herself, eat and _survive_.

A wyvern’s heart was muscle and fat, and her teeth had to pull at pieces, try to tear it apart. There were no blades, not during this ceremony. Those who had also lived retched, and Camilla did not pause as one woman was slain, an attempt to run away. Blood rolled in her stomach, as she could feel herself seize, only one more time. No, that was not allowed. Failure was not an option. 

Camilla licks the blood from her fingers, and does not smile. Tipping her head back, she holds the last piece of heart — of Marzia — above her head. It drops and slips down the back of her throat, joining the rest in her belly, and Camilla closes her eyes.

 

Marzia must have been fighting back. Blood is a powerful thing, and Camilla had never ignored it’s importance. But when she wakes in the middle of the night, burning from the inside out, tearing at her gut to try and get whatever was crawling in her, she is reminded. Resentment was also a powerful thing, as Camilla cried and scrambled and retched in the little bucket by her bed. I’m sorry, she yelled between each breath. The small room echoed her empty words back.

 

Hours. She had been seated for hours. Her legs were numb and her back strained and pulled, stitches coming loose. If she were not going to die from the sheer output of magic, no doubt she would bleed herself to death. Too far now, she had come too far, to simply fall to her own injuries. 

“Marzia, come back to me…”

The great wyvern’s body did not move, on its side, defeated. Camilla had only realised just how big Marzia had grown, she was up to her elbows, hands inside, where the heart once lay. Marzia was no longer warm, flies had begun to join the carcass, there was no hope.

“Please… just one more time… fly with me.”

Whatever magic Camilla held in her hand, it was fading, time wearing on her. Blood from the wound in her hand was beginning to dry, and the edgings of infection were weighing on her. She had not eaten since the heart, as it had fought with her every night since the ceremony. Tired. She was going to die again.

“You are my only friend.”

Slowly, in her hand, the little flame grew. It burnt blue, a cold and frightening blue, that licked up against deflated lungs, crawling its way out. Rejection, Marzia was trying to reject her magic. Camilla had thrown too much away to let such a moment go, and she forced her hand in further, until there was no escape for this little light. Until all it was covered in was the blackness, the dark of a slain friend.

 

When Marzia came roaring back to life, Camilla embraced her. And let that flame burn them both.

 

How was she supposed to piece Marzia back together, when the only magic she knew was to destroy? Destruction was her only pride, as she stitched the tears in Marzia’s wings back together. Destroy destroy destroy. That was all she had ever done, even back in the castle. Herself and those around her, she could never _fix_ anything. Following her like a dark cloud was destruction, and Camilla hoped this would be the end of it. Where the heart was, now sat a gaping wound, with only the flame burning underneath skin. Camilla fought and dragged muscle and bone, until she reformed Marzia. Moulded the wyvern under her hands, trying to get what once was, but will never be. 

Marzia fought and bit and was nothing but pure rage, being dragged back from the other side just as Camilla had. Each pierce of skin, an effort to repair what Camilla had broken, sent Marzia into a fit, until even the dead beneath their feet turned to stare. And Camilla knew it was her fault, for being ambitious, for wanting to grow strong. Hands over the wound in Marzia’s throat, Camilla closed her eyes, and pieced her together in the only way she knew possible: painfully, and with regret.

 

Watching her magic twist and turn Marzia was something. Marzia had been a brat of a wyvern, stealing her food as a little menace, chewing her boots, biting at the bottom of her coats. She had been affectionate and sang, crawling up trees to find birds, to watch. Carefree, and wild, and Camilla had loved her with everything she had left in her to love. 

It took a month. A month to tame her, to train her own mind to accept the weight. Exhaustion broke her concentration more than once, and Camilla bore the scars. Lost her left ear and was blind in her left eye. It’s fine, she tells herself, as she breathes (it's all she can do), and focuses. Marzia fights like she always had. It’s fine it’s fine it’s fine, she repeats, over and over, telling herself not to cry anymore. Different now, she thinks, in between the roars in the back of her head. Stronger. 

Camilla had never broken under the weight of her childhood, and as she strikes Marzia with a bolt, pushing her back, Camilla knew she would be _fine._

Only since she had nothing else, anyway.

 

 

Camila returned to the capital a week after that, head held high. Her armour chaffed, and her left arm was still weak. But she was strong. In the back of her mind, Marzia broiled and cried. But she was _strong_.

 

Garon told her to bend knee, voice rolling like thunder that used to have her hide under her bed. Like a wave that had slapped the side of their boat when they had been children, throwing a sibling into the sea. Like a nightmare that she had tried to leave, valiantly, yet stupidly. And she was afraid, _oh_ _so_ afraid. Nothing had changed, and regret bit at her tongue, holding it, sending her eyes to stare at his feet. Nothing had changed, and it was all for naught. As Camilla heard the low thrum of magic, all that was holding Marzia together, sing in her ears, all she could feel was

Regret

Resentment

Shame.

**Author's Note:**

> i rly have nothing to say here hope u enjoyed


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